


Getting to Know All About You

by luxgloriana



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fun fluffy smut, Knowing someone in the biblical sense, Mary-Beth's point of view, Rarepair, Smut, chapter 3 and 4, please read this, please ship this with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxgloriana/pseuds/luxgloriana
Summary: Charles was a handsome man.  Quiet, strong, and serious.  The very definition of stoic.And Mary-Beth has a type.***Mary-Beth realizes she just might be attracted to Charles and is determined to get to know him a little better.Alternate title: I try and fail to write a quick little smutty fic of a rare-pair I think is interesting and instead write this monster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Getting to Know You” from the musical The King and I.
> 
> This will be posted in two parts to shamelessly increase the number of people who will see this on the feed, and because it has no right being one long mega-chapter. 
> 
> I didn’t realize this was a thing I shipped until I just saw their names adjacent to each other in the notes for my other fic, and then holy hell, how are we all sleeping on this? I love Charles/Arthur and Mary-Beth/Kieran, but this ship has a lot of potential too, my friends. Also, both Charles and Mary-Beth deserved to get laid. 
> 
> This is in part inspired by the 2 seconds in the cut scene before the bar fight in Valentine, where Charles is trying to follow after the woman who he’d been cuddling up after Arthur insults the two ladies. It’s charming and just a little silly.
> 
> I tried to write this with a voice that was suitable for Mary-Beth--with a little bit of classic romance novel smut, but still... not as cheesey. I wrote everything short of the actual sex pretty quickly, but then I hit a brick wall, because, as much as it made sense to, I wanted to avoid using words like "heaving bosom" and "quivering member."

Charles was a handsome man. Quiet, strong, and serious. The very definition of stoic.

And Mary-Beth has a type.

It had taken all of one glance and a handshake for her to fall just a little bit in love with Arthur Morgan.  His strong shoulders and blue-green eyes, his quiet intelligence and surprising humor, the way he never broke a promise.  It was like he was a medieval chivalrous knight, but better, because he meant everything he said and did.

And it wasn’t like Arthur was the only one around camp who showed their colors, so to speak.  For a camp full of outlaws, there were a number of good men hiding under masks and rough edges that had gotten Mary-Beth’s attention.  Javier had caught her eye shortly after she realized Arthur had taken some sort of vow of chastity, but aside from some harmless flirting, Javier wasn’t interested in anything else.  

Then Dutch has started flirting with _her_.  At first, she didn’t mind, that was just what Dutch did.  But then it got more serious, all the while Dutch was still sharing a bed with Molly, and he got more persistent, and then it was certainly not fine.  

And there was Kieran, dear, sweet Kieran.  That poor boy needed time to stretch his wings or get his sea legs, whichever idiom seemed more appropriate.  He had been flirting with her, a while ago, and she had been flirting back. But then something happened, and he got stuck in the metaphorical mud, and the flirting became less frequent.  Mary-Beth was doing her best to pull him out of his shell, but part of her was certain that even if she stripped naked and tied a big bow around her neck and waited on his bed for him that Kieran wouldn’t get the hint that she was sincerely interested in him.  

All of this, well… it had put things in perspective or her, and that made her feel a little lonely.  

All these men and none seemed to have turned their eye to her—except for Dutch, who was… _complicated_.

Not that Mary-Beth had joined the gang to get a man.  Despite all of the time she spent daydreaming, she was a practical woman.  She joined because she liked sleeping in the same place more than two nights in a row and having food to eat.  But in a lifestyle that made them move every few months or so when they were under threat of other gangs and from Pinkertons and the law, was it so selfish to want someone to hold and to be held at night?  Mary-Beth didn’t think so. She and the other girls were used to crowding in close together on cold nights, but it wasn’t the same. Karen and Tilly were wonderful, charming, and beautiful, but that didn’t mean that Mary-Beth wanted to spend the rest of her life smelling Karen’s morning breath or waiting for Tilly’s drool to dry from her shirtsleeve first thing in the morning.

And she wasn’t particularly interested in fooling around with either of them. She was allowed to miss the fun and the pleasure of sharing a bed with a handsome man, wasn’t she?

So when one night, as she sat alone under the stars at Clement Point, admiring the beauty of the lake and the little islands in the moonlight, she overheard some friendly chatter between John and Charles as John took over the watch, and Mary-Beth had a revelation.  

Charles was gentle.  Charles was brave. Charles and kind and sweet. He was also very handsome.  Why had it taken her months to realize it? Was it just because she was always a fool when it came to her own feelings? Or was it because Charles was so quiet, so reserved, that she needed time to see what he was like, unable to piece it all together until enough of himself had shined through his walls?  

It was probably a fair mix of both.  

Charles was certainly very muscular.  He had a lovely voice, too. She wondered what it would be like for him to hold her against him, and what sort of things he would whisper in her ear as they drifted off to sleep together.  

She considered that thought for a little bit, letting her mind try and re-try different scenarios like she was trying on gloves to see which one fit the best.  He didn't seem like the sort to surprise her with the fanciest of hot-house roses or with expensive jewelry or to pepper her with a hundred sweet kisses every morning as they woke with the dawn.  But she could imagine him picking a bouquet of wildflowers to bring to her, and she could imagine them sitting side-by-side and holding hands as they watched the sunrise together over a cup of coffee.  That seemed about right.

And then, pondering as she did, her stomach twisted into knots as some sense of guilt began to bubble away inside of her.

She wasn’t just feeling this way because she was lonely, was she?  That wouldn’t be right for Charles, if she were to try and seduce him only for her feelings to fizzle out like a lit cigarette dropped in a puddle as soon as she got some attention.  But maybe it was entirely possible that she’d been slowly realizing that Charles was, underneath his reticence, exactly the sort of man she always imagined being able to lean her head against his shoulder and watch the campfire with, or to walk arm-in-arm with underneath the canopy of the forest.  Yes, she spent all of her free time reading silly tales of royalty and dramatic sacrifices made in the name of love, but all Mary-Beth wanted were the little things.

And Charles was so gentle and kind.

Mary-Beth sat, and listened to the tree frogs and cicadas.  It was well past when she usually went to sleep, but she wasn’t tired, not at all.  So she reconsidered everything, and approached her thoughts from another angle.

Even if she was only suddenly realizing that Charles was a wonderful man, that didn’t mean her feelings were wrong.  Maybe they weren’t deep, or maybe they would only be fleeting, but maybe, now that her eyes were open, they wouldn’t be.

She tried to imagine a million different scenarios of her and Charles being together and being happy.  Little quiet moments under the moonlight, as she was then, but with a companion; more serious and dramatic moments of life-threatening danger and loss; what Charles was like in bed.  Each scenario different, and she couldn’t help but see that in each little dream her mind provided for her, she was happy and loved.

Of course, her imagination was biased.  She wasn’t going to imagine her self with some handsome man in some romantic scene and not have her happy in it, but, well.  All of her little dreams seemed feasible enough. Maybe she could be happy with Charles?

Once Mary-Beth began to ache from sitting on the pebble-covered shore for so long, she stood, and she stretched her arms high above her head.  As she relaxed again, she yawned.

Well, maybe that was a sign she shouldn’t march right on over to Charles and keep him company during his watch.  Not that he would appreciate that anyway—she knew Charles well enough to know that.

So there and then, as Mary-Beth silently crossed through the camp on her way back to her tent, she made up her mind.  She would try and spend a moment or two with Charles every day that he was in camp, to see if her feelings held true, or if she was only yearning for whatever companionship was available to her.  And when she decided? She would make up a new plan from there.

As she fluffed up her pillow and pulled her blanket over her — and decided to stick one leg out from underneath, as it was still very warm and sticky in the Lemoyne night air—she decided that it would be very lovely to be cuddled up with Charles at night indeed.  

 

***

 

The next morning, Charles was cleaning his personal arsenal of weapons under the shade of the giant tree in the center of camp when Mary-Beth crawled out of her tent and poured herself a cup of coffee.  She didn’t want to interrupt him if he needed to concentrate, but surely cleaning a gun wasn’t the most complicated of chores? He could talk to another person while he did that, right?

And she even had the perfect excuse—a yard or so away from Charles’ feet, Cain laid on the grass, pouting because his favorite companion, Jack, was still asleep.  

She silently wandered over, her cup of coffee steaming away in her hand, and knelt in the grass beside the dog.  He lifted his head up and started wagging his tail in anticipation of some love and attention, so Mary-Beth started scratching under his chin, something he appreciated very, very much.  

"Good boy," she whispered.  

Charles was sitting, still silently working.  She assumed that he knew she was sitting there, but he hadn’t said anything by way of greeting.  She hadn’t expected him to.

“Good morning, Charles.”  She said, her voice quiet, her tone perfectly pleasant.  

“Good morning.” He answered, not looking away from his favorite sawed-off shotgun.  

She waited for a moment, letting the silence pass by,  and switched to scratching Cain behind his ears with one hand.  

“Do you have any plans for the day?”  

“I’m going hunting.” He said, his voice as warm and even as ever.  “There's plenty of deer and boar around here.”

A million possible things she could say came to Mary-Beth’s mind. But Charles was Charles, and she knew him well enough that for now, she would get his attention if she stayed quiet.  

So, “good luck,” was all she said.  

From the corner of her eye, she saw Charles nod, and then slung his bow across his back, and pick up his other weapons and carried them off towards his tent.  

 

***

 

And so that continued for a few days, with Mary-Beth saying three of four pleasant sentences to Charles at some quiet point of their day.  She even got him to laugh, once, when she suggested that he wear the necklace of flowers that she and Jack had made together.

She hadn’t exactly fallen head over heels in love with Charles, like the characters in her books, but she was right.  He was kind and patient and it seemed that he liked her, even if Mary-Beth was so far from being able to guess what exact thoughts and feelings he had for her in return.  

But she was planning on finding out.  

 

***

 

And then, as they had been doing for months now, everything blew up in face of the Van der Linde gang.  


	2. Chapter 2

Sean was dead.  That foolish, foolish man.  But he was a good man, and a funny man, underneath all of his bluster.   _Poor Karen_...

But there was nothing they could do about that, beyond burying him.  

Especially because, only hours later, things got worse.  

Jack went missing.  Kieran had seen someone near camp, but he didn’t know what any of the Braithwaites looked like, and besides, it wasn’t so unusual for someone to come along and fish nearby.  

But they took Jack.  Charles was the only one of the usual guns left behind at camp to stand guard, aside from Micah, who stood far away in the woods—Karen and Miss Grimshaw were also standing watch, on high alert.  As those who had been left behind at camp sat and waited and worried and tried to distract Abigail, the other men went and exacted their revenge.

Mary-Beth later found out, as Arthur nursed a bottle of whiskey and she nursed the burn he’d gotten on his forearm, that meant killing most of the Braithwaite boys and letting their house burn to the ground.

And then the Pinkertons showed up, and soon they were picking up and packing up once again.

 

***

 

Mary-Beth wanted to like the house at Shady Belle. She wanted to like it for the novelty of being able to sleep under a real roof if she wanted. She wanted to like it because, under all of the dust and grime and litter from the Lemoyne Raiders who’d lived there before, it was a romantic ruin of a house.

But it was hard to find a house so riddled with spiders and snakes and sitting right in the middle of a horrible swamp  _lovely_.

But they were making it theirs. While Arthur, Dutch, and John were in Saint Denis finding the man who held Jack, the rest of them were getting comfortable. Throughout it all, Mary-Beth and the other girls tried to distract Abigail. But since none of them could return Jack to her arms, nothing they could do really helped.

Just as the sun began to sink low in the sky, casting an orange and pink glow above the horizon on that first day at Shady Belle, Mary-Beth retreated to the quiet of the little gazebo out front. The horses were her only company, as she listened to crows caw well above her in the sky and the sound of the alligators sliding across the mud and splashing into the water somewhere in the distance.

She tried to do some writing first, for one of the countless stories she had ideas for tucked away in her head.  But she was too tired and too anxious to put pen to paper in any meaningful way. So she decided to just sit and relax, and enjoy the moment of peace.  She tried not to think about anything in particular, knowing how her thoughts were often her own greatest enemy, and that they could easily carry her away with the force of a flooded river.

She had more success with that endeavor. Absolutely nothing concerned her while she sat and enjoyed her-well deserved quiet and peace away from the chaos of the gang.

And then she saw him.

Charles was standing amongst the horses, which had been set up at the front of the property to feed and rest. Someone had already set out a few bales of hay for them to eat, but there Charles was, checking over them and making sure none of them were hungry or upset to be in their new home. He was standing beside Lenny’s horse, Maggie, giving her a pat on the nose, less than twenty feet away from the gazebo.

Well. There went all of Mary-Beth’s attempts not to think right out the window.

Oh, no, she hadn’t fallen head over heels for Charles over the past few days, but she liked him.  She really liked him. Every suspicion she’d ever had about being a good and gentle and kind man had been confirmed five or ten times over with each little moment they spent together.

And she was also aware of the fact that she was dirty and sweaty from the day’s exertion, of moving their whole camp into the hottest and muggiest place Mary-Beth has ever been in her life.  She didn’t know if Charles cared or not—he certainly wouldn’t say anything if he did—but she cared. Part of her really wanted him to see her when her hair was long and shiny and smelled like roses, she wanted him to see her when her soft and freckled skin when it wasn’t smudged with dirt.

But she couldn’t avoid him now, even if the gnawing feeling in her stomach made her want to run and hide. And she couldn’t pretend to be asleep to avoid his attention since he could probably see right through that. Even though Mary-Beth was an expert at pretending to be asleep—she’d picked a lot of pockets that way—he of all people would know it was a ruse.

So she sat there, waiting, and watching as Charles pet Lenny’s horse, Maggie, and gave Sadie’s horse, Bob, a scratch behind the ears.

So the only way out was through.

Taking a steady breath to slow the twisting of her stomach, Mary-Beth screwed her courage to the sticking place (whatever that was, exactly) and stood, taking a few steps towards the edge of the gazebo, striking an innocent pose at the top of the little steps.

“Are you okay, Charles?” She asked, raising her voice only loud enough that she could be heard over the whinnies and snorts of the horses.

He looked up, and his head snapped towards her. Sometimes, he looked surprised when she would talk to him, if he didn’t have something else to focus on. But this time, his face quickly settled into his usual impassive expression.  He wasn’t surprised that she would want to talk to him.

“I’m alright. Are you?”

“Tired and dirty and sweaty, but I suppose that’s better than being riddled full of holes from a Pinkerton’s gun.”

He nodded and took two ambling steps closer to the gazebo as he looked over the house and the grounds with a considering eye.

“I suppose you’re right about that. As long as we stay out of the way of the cottonmouths and alligators, we should be fine out here for a while.”

“That’s if the whole house doesn’t collapse on top of us first.”

Charles’ eyes crinkled up at the sides—that was nearly a smile, wasn’t it?

“I’m not sure if this place will survive one more bad storm. Thankfully, we should be far away from here by the time any hurricanes come through.”

“Lord, I hope so. I might just melt into a puddle if we’re here when it gets any hotter.”

His lips quirked up so quickly that Mary-Beth thought she might have imagined it, if she hadn’t already known she had the power to make him laugh and smile. But that little impression of a smile gave her just enough confidence to ignore the last bit of fear bubbling away inside of her.

“I can’t say I blame you. I’d almost be happier to be back at the camp in Colter.”

This was the longest he seemed willing to stand around and talk to her without excusing himself to go and do something else. This seemed like as good of a time as to test the waters as any, she thought. Forget her dirty, sweaty skin, forget how tired she was, she couldn’t miss her chance.

Mary-Beth rested one hand against the gazebo’s frame and brought the other to rest on her hip. She was a little nervous—how long had it been since she’d approached a man like this?  But fortune favors the brave for a reason. 

“You’re less likely to get frostbite here. Although it is a shame I can’t use the cold as a reason to ask you to keep me warm at night.”

Mary-Beth held her ground as Charles’ jaw dropped, as his head tilted to the side and his eyes gred wide, even as her own heart races away in her chest. She tried hard not to smile or look too smug or eager as she realized he wasn’t running away and he didn’t look disgusted.

“You’re forward.” He murmured, the surprise lingering in his eyes.

Mary-Beth nodded, not sure what she could say to him without her voice shaking.

Charles looked down at the ground, and Mary-Beth stomach dropped, and her heart skipped a beat, certain he was trying to find the kindest way to run far away from her and leave the gang behind forever.

And then slowly, he asked, “what exactly are you suggesting?”

Mary-Beth’s immediate response was to say  _anything_ or  _whatever you want_ , answers coming from a lifetime of playing men like a fiddle to get their money. But Charles wasn’t a target or a victim, so she answered honestly.

“You’re a difficult man to get to know, Mr. Smith. Just let me get to know you.”

He looked up again and smirked, his head tilting further to the side.

“By ‘get to know me,’ you mean in the biblical sense?”

Mary-Beth’s stomach flipped around.  

“That’s not  _all_  I meant, but I’m certainly not opposed to it.” She gripped tighter around the wooden post, and took a deep breath, both for her own sake and, well, just because Charles wasn’t a mark, that didn’t mean she couldn’t use some of her old tricks on him.

And it worked—Charles was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough for Mary-Beth not to notice the way his eyes dropped down to her chest and lingered for a moment.

Charles took a deep breath, and looked back up at her, at her face and her eyes, and smiled. It was almost devious. The fluttering in Mary-Beth’s stomach grew faster, and even in the oppressive heat, she could feel her cheeks blush as a warmth washed over her that started from her cheeks and her ears and her neck and worked its way down to her stomach and down to her core.

He was going to agree.

_What a turn this day had made._

“There’s a field, just to the west. Behind those trees. It’s private enough, and it’s far enough away from the water we won’t have to worry about any of the gators or snakes wandering that way, but not so far we’ll be unsafe.”

Fighting to keep herself from smiling like an absolute buffoon, Mary-Beth stepped down the two steps of the gazebo and onto the grass. She held out her hand, like a fancy lady exiting a coach, and Charles crossed the remaining six feet or so to grasp onto her hand. And then Mary-Beth could hold back the foolish little smile no longer, as Charles made some little noise that was almost a chuckle, and began pulling her, past the horses and past the sandbags and pikes set up as defenses.

The further and further they got from the gazebo, the faster Charles walked, until Mary-Beth was practically skipping to keep up with him, her hand still held in his own warm, calloused hand. She giggled but didn’t say anything about his unexpected eagerness.

By the time they wound their way through a few skinny trees and into a larger clearing, he was nearly running, and Mary-Beth certainly was, just to keep up with his long strides.

And then, he veered off to the right, and swung her around in a wide arc, trampling a circle all the way through the tall grass until she was backed up against the smooth trunk of a maple tree. She was breathing fast, and she was certain her cheeks were flushed, and his smile was so charming and  _smug_. He had certainly never smiled like this before, not around Mary-Beth, probably not around the rest of the camp. He looked like a clever wolf who had chased a rabbit into a corner.

Mary-Beth was more than happy to let him think that that was exactly what had happened.

They took a moment to catch their breath, eyes darting over each other, unashamed as they looked at each other’s lips, the soft skin of their necks, the curves and flat planes of their shoulders and chests—whatever was open to their eye, they admired.

And then Charles took one step forward, one step closer, and pushed all of Mary-Beth’s curls behind her back with one graceful sweep of his hand, before bringing it to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb sweeping up and down along her throat.

“May I kiss you?” He murmured, tilting his head so that his lips were only inches from Mary-Beth’s ear

“Of course.”

He didn’t waste any time. Charles’ surprisingly supple lips were against hers, sweetly pressed against the corner of her mouth.

Mary-Beth brought her own hands to rest on Charles’ waist, over the fabric of his soft linen shirt. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the fabric, and despite the overwhelming heat and humidity of the bayou’s night air, she didn’t mind that Charles was so warm.  Especially since, as she pulled him closer, he pressed himself further into the kiss, his tongue teasing her bottom lip and very efficiently distracting her from any sort of silly thoughts about the weather.

Charles was a perfectly lovely kisser. Deliberate and sweet, and he wasn’t trying to eat her alive, which was certainly a step up from most men that Mary-Beth had kissed.  He was careful, his tongue teasing, nothing done too much or too little. If there was one thing that Mary-Beth noticed, though, it was that, even as they held each other closer and closer, he didn’t try to move things along.  One of his hands was still on her neck, the other gently resting on her waist, and they had not moved from there. If he wanted to take things slowly, she could do that, and she was willing to do that, but not moving at all was too slow.

She dragged her hands down, along the lines of his stomach and to his hips, and pushed up the fabric of his shirt, slipping her hands along his skin. She ran her thumb over a valley of muscle that ran along the side of his abdomen, and his lips slowed their caress and he pulled away.

Before Mary-Beth could ask anything foolish, Charles dropped the hand that had been resting on her neck down to her waist, and replaced the gentle press of his fingers against her neck with his lips. He pressed the first kiss against the soft skin just under the curve of her jaw. As her head fell back, against the tree, Mary-Beth was certain she could have died at that moment as the happiest she’d ever been. She arched her neck and back, pressing closer, feeling even more pleased with herself as Charles’ hands came to rest low on her hips.

He bit, very gently, at the thin, freckled skin above her collarbone. A spark of the flame that had been building up inside of her, down in her stomach, flared up, shooting up through her spine and down to her toes, and a tiny little breathless gasp escaped from her throat. As if they were pulled by magnets, her hands darted to his gun belt, teasingly traced a finger along the buckle, and then slipped her fingers behind the waistband of his pants, dragging her fingertips along the skin of his lower stomach. He wasn’t, she noted, wearing long underwear. In fact, she thought he wasn’t wearing any at all. That was certainly… interesting.

And then he pulled away. With a wink, he pulled her hands away from his pants and away from his belt, and undid the buckle on his gun belt. Gingerly, he set it on the ground to one side, and shrugged off his soft suede vest and threw it next to the belt.

Charles looked at her, thoughtful but not shrewd, or judgmental. 

“You’ve been trying to get to know me for the past few days, haven’t you? I didn’t realize, at first, but now,” he licked his lips. “I think it’s my turn to get to know you.”

 _Clever_.

And then he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately wrapped around her ankles, and pushing up, up her legs and moving her skirt and petticoats out of the way, pulling her drawers down her legs and casting them aside without a thought. She bunched the rest of her skirts up and with one hand, and held them out of his way.

“Well, I’m learning something about you, now.” She teased. “I didn’t know you were so good with a clever double entendre.”

He scoffed, and smiled. Then he pressed three faint kisses to each thigh, to the softest part of her leg. Feeling his hot breath and his strong hands, her eyes fell shut, and she leaned her head against the tree once more. She was all aflutter, she could feel the flame inside of her growing into hot coals that settled low in her stomach, behind a part of her that her books always called the mound of Venus. She liked that one better than a lot of the other names.

And then his tongue swiped across her hidden lips, a teasing first taste, and the butterflies in Mary-Beth’s stomach vanished as the flames grew higher. His tongue was soft, and hot, and when his hands came to rest low on her hips and his fingers gently pulled her apart, revealing her pink flesh, she didn’t feel a drop of self-consciousness. She shifted her stance to be just a little bit wider, and once Charles’ tongue brushed across the bead of skin, she bent her arms around to hold onto the trunk of the tree behind her, uncertain that she would be able to stay standing up straight for long.

He pushed one finger inside of her, dragging the very tip of his finger across her skin with a delicate touch while his tongue brushed across the softest and most delicate part of her body again and again. Oh, it wouldn’t be enough to push her over the edge, but it was wonderful all the same. Every touch of his tongue and his finger was another flash of heat across her body, and part of her never wanted it to end.

But then Charles stilled his tongue, and instead, oh so gently, sucked at the little bead of skin tucked between her lips, pulling a series of gentle gasps from her mouth as her eyes snapped open. Looking down at Charles, kneeling between her legs, she could see his eyes shining bright, even as the sun fell below the horizon.

He was feeling smug, although Mary-Beth imagined she could forgive him for it. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she laughed breathlessly as his tongue brushed over her again and again, slowly, and she sighed, delighted with it all. He sucked one more time, and her eyes fell shut once more, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to return the favor to him—she had a million ideas flittering  through her mind, but she struggled to concentrate on any of them. She was so close, so very close, and even as her eyes drifted shut once more, and even as the dusk surrounded them both, all she could see behind her eyes was bright, glaring sunlight.

Then he pulled his mouth away from her core, and pressed another kiss to the side of her thigh. He kept the finger inside of her there, as her muscles fluttered around him, as if it was some way of soothing her disappointment.

There was no doubt about it, she was a little disappointed not to die a little death there and then, but she could be patient.

Mary-Beth released his hair from her hand and smoothed down the locks she had pulled at as Charles slipped his finger from her. Mary-Beth shifted from side to side in a feeble attempt to relieve the ache she felt, and she offered him a hand and helped him rise to his feet.

He stood up and, with one hand on the trunk of the tree to hold himself up, he sagged forward, catching his breath. Mary-Beth pulled him closer, her hands immediately drifting to his hips, pushing aside the soft fabric of his shirt. She dug the fingers of one hand into his warm skin, and dropped her other hand lower, down to the front of his pants.

Charles was hard—she could feel him, and honestly, a young and healthy man like that, she’d be surprised if he wasn’t by now. He seemed fine, with her gentle touch through his clothes, until she pressed just a little harder with the palm of her hand, and his breathing ceased. He grabbed onto her wrist, and with a move that, had he ever shown any interest in reading a romance novel in his life, Mary-Beth would have accused him of stealing from one of her books, he pulled her hand up to his mouth and pressed the sweetest kiss to her knuckles.

And then he dropped her hand, and leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, and when he spoke, she could feel his breath against her swollen lips.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked.

“I want everything all at once.” She admitted, her voice hoarse. “But we can start with that.”

He grinned, like a villain in a melodrama, like someone who had everything they ever wanted fall into their hands through some devious scheme.

He leaned in further, pressing against her chest to chest, and pushed one knee between her legs, his thigh brushing against the junction of her legs, the faintest touch that made her grind forward by reflex alone. She pushed her hips forward again, pressing against his cock as she repaid his earlier attention to her neck. Dragging lazy kiss after lazy kiss, licking and tasting the salt on his skin as his hands traced the curves of her chest, her waist, her hips, her back as he touched everywhere on her and it still wasn’t enough.

And then Mary-Beth could feel as the thought occurred to him, as his whole body tensed around her. Her first silly thought was that she had done something wrong, but pushed her worries aside as Charles leaned away. He took a moment to catch his breath, licking his lips and shaking the fog away from his head as she slowed her own breathing.

“Do you want to take your corset off?” He asked, his voice thick with distraction, but said as simply as if he’d asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee in the morning fire.

Mary-Beth thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had a man while still fully dressed, but. Maybe. It would be more comfortable, and it would be easier to breathe. Those other men hadn’t stolen her breath away quite the way Charles had.

And how could she forget the way she’d caught Charles glancing at her chest earlier? His care and concern for her comfort didn’t seem quite so altruistic now, but somehow, she’d muddle through and forgive him.

“Alright.” She whispered, her hands joining his as they pulled her blouse free from her skirt and over her head and then, taking the deepest breath she could, she pulled the front of her corset open, pulling the little hooks from their loops, and cast the garments aside, letting them fall where they may.

His hands were back around her waist in an instant, before pushing up over the thin cotton of her chemise, his thumbs dragging across her nipples, massaging her skin. His warm, wide hands felt so wonderful that it almost made her laugh. Mary-Beth didn’t know how well he would react to her giggling like a silly little girl the first time they ever got their hands on one another, so she busied her mouth, kissing and biting the soft, peach fuzz covered skin behind one ear. She pushed his hair out of the way, and ran her fingers through his hair twice, before she scratched her nails over his scalp, and he purred, the sound resonating in his chest. Pressed so close together, she felt that warm rumble down through his chest, his stomach, to her core. It was her turn to smile like some great mastermind, as she pressed another kiss against his jaw with her open lips.

And then, as if part of some delightful scheme of revenge, he pushed her chemise down and away from her neck, and teased at one nipple for the first time without any silly fabric in the way. Her stomach pulled and some faint noise slipped from her lips before she could stop herself.

She wanted him, badly. She ached to have him inside of her, a real and nagging ache that no one short of Mary-Beth and her own imagination had ever made her feel.

“Charles,” she gasped, pressing her lips as close to his ear as she could.

“Hmm?” He hummed, pressing his face closer into her neck, his hands turning their attention to her other breast.

“Are waiting for me to beg or something? Please, for god’s sake, I’m ready.”

”I just wanted to make sure.” He whispered.  

He paused, and then pushed himself back with one hand on the trunk of the tree above her, and looked at her. He tried to keep his expression cool and his hands steady, but Mary-Beth knew how fast his heart was beating, and could feel the heat of the flush in his cheeks, even if she could not see it through the darkness. She knew—just because she was the one to admit it didn’t mean that he wasn’t desperate and ready too.

He nodded, silently, and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple that made her beat skip one more time.

Mary-Beth was having difficulty thinking of anyone or anything else, but in that minute, she was certain that getting to know Charles better was the greatest stroke inspiration of she’d ever had. And she’d think about it, later. She’d think about how proud she was for making this stoic and reserved man want so much.

Charles cast his eyes down, slowly unbuttoning his pants. As he pulled away, Mary-Beth took a few deep breaths to relish in the sudden space she had to breathe and pulled up her skirts a little higher.

He hadn’t been boasting. There was plenty of reason for him to need to be certain she was relaxed and ready to take him—certainly more than two inches of reason, in diameter.

Before he could even think of asking anything silly about whether or not she was sure or if she needed another minute, Mary-Beth pulled him closer with one hand on his back, wrapping one of her own legs around his hip. He could have no doubt that this is where she wanted him to be.

Charles pulled away just the slightest, in order to slide his hand down, to feel how hot and slick Mary-Beth still was, from the work of his own tongue and her own certain enthusiasm. She tried to get her every muscle to relax under his touch. It was difficult, as tightly wound and as sensitive as she was from all of the teasing and touching they had already done, but she really didn’t want him to get the idea that she wasn’t ready.

So as he took himself in hand and stepped the tiniest bit closer, Mary-Beth dug her hands into his hips and, on an impulse, pressed another gentle kiss to his collarbone, where the soft linen of his shirt fell open.

She exhaled, and concentred on relaxing as he slowly pushed inside. If he seemed to struggle, to steady his hands and to find the right angle, Mary-Beth was just all the more glad to have a chance to breathe and to accustom herself to him. She felt herself stretch as she grew around him, and she felt like the closer and closer they got to become one, the ache inside of her faded away. She felt good. She felt so very good.

And, why had she taken so long before she decided she should get to know Charles? And why had she been so cautious about it in the first place?

Hitching her leg up higher on his hip, Mary-Beth dropped her skirts from her hands, and grabbed onto his hip, again, and slung her other arm around his neck, keeping his lips close to hers.

They stuttered and started, as Charles moved his feet and as Mary-Beth arched her back as they found the right angle to move against each other. And finally, slowly, in and out, he was fucking her and she was grinding down onto him and it was everything she could have ever asked for. Better than his finger alone, better than his mouth, even, because he was pushing against her in a way that made every part of her glow red and hot like the coals of a fire, better yet because of how safe and warm and solid his chest and waist felt pressed up against her. She could fall to pieces in his arms, and it would be no trouble for him to hold her together.

With the hand hooked around his neck, she pushed her hand up, into Charles’ lovely hair, and scratched her nails over the delicate skin at the top of his neck. Charles’ reaction to such a simple touch brought her closer and closer to feeling the height of her pleasure, just as much as each thrust of his hips did. The way Charles threw his head back, his eyes falling shut, the breathless groan that started as a rumble in his chest and ended as a moan she could feel resonating in his throat.

Oh, how she hoped that Charles would be willing to do this again. She was making plans already.

Once Charles got a hold of himself again he pushed one hand up under Mary-Beth’s gathered skirt and dragged his strong hand across the soft skin of her behind and hips, he pulled her closer and lifted her higher. He moved his hips faster than before, harder than before, and Mary-Beth was desperately holding on. With one leg hitched on his waist and the other under his control, Mary-Beth was all but pinned against the tree, able to move her hips to grind against him only because of the support and strength of the hand that held so tightly onto her. What Mary-Beth certainly could do, was arch her neck to the side, and press her lips against his neck. She kissed him again and again, liked a few beads of sweat from where it gathered against the sinew along the side of his neck.

She felt Charles’ neck twist and move underneath her lips.

“You feel wonderful.” He muttered, picking up the pace again. With each snap of his hips, Mary-Beth felt breathless, and she knew he wasn’t going to rest until she came.

So she knotted her fingers in his hair and pulled, gently, and he began rutting even faster. It was wonderful, and delicious, and Mary-Beth felt like she was on fire. She—

“Are you close?”

She was close.

She tried to answer, a quiet  _uh huh_ that was interrupted by a stuttered breath, as Charles thrust harder and she climbed ever higher.

“I want you to finish for me.”

And like the static and smell of ozone before a strike of lightning, Mary-Beth was so close, so close and waiting, then all at once, there was a bright flash of light followed by a deep darkness behind her eyes, as a rush of fire and sparks filled her body. Her legs, her abdomen, and her arms all tensed up as she convulsed in Charles’ arms, and Mary-Beth knew there some mess of wordless cries escaping from her lips as Charles continued moving within her and pressing against her, but she could hardly pay attention to that with everything else she was feeling.

Charles did not stop moving and did not dare lose control until Mary-Beth opened her eyes again, and laid a gentle hand on the center of his chest. He looked her in the eye and nodded, his face twisted into a grimace as he pulled out of her. Without a word, Mary-Beth set her hands on his shoulders for balance as she bit and kissed the other side of his neck, while Charles stroked himself.

When Charles came, it was with a nearly silent sigh and shuddered breathing, as he spilled into his own hand. Mary-Beth didn’t want to turn her attention away from his lovely neck, since he seemed to appreciate it so much, so she missed the way he screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip just before he finished. But she could feel, under her hands and against her chest, how Charles’ shoulders arched back and his chest tensed up, and as his hand stopped, how he finally relaxed.

Still a little fuzzy and still a little delirious with her own climax, Mary-Beth was overtaken by some spirit of daring bravery, and as Charles steadied himself, she grabbed the hand into which he had spilled. His eyes snapped open in complete confusion as she lifted his hand and he watched in disbelief as she pushed the tip of her tongue past her lips, and licked his hand clean. Once she’d swallowed most of it, she began aimlessly caressing each thick finger and joint, all the while Charles gaped at her, his mouth open.

“Fuck.” He eventually whispered, as his eyes fluttered shut once more.

He took her in his arms, and turned, so that he was the one with his back to the tree trunk, and he cradled her close as they caught their breath.

Her memory wasn’t working perfectly, and she honestly wasn’t sure if she even knew any other men in the whole world other than Charles, but Mary-Beth felt reasonably certain that no one else had ever made her feel that good. She would have remembered that, surely.

Oh, if the Mary-Beth that had sat on the pebbled shore at Clemens Point could have seen how this story ended… Oh, the poor girl would have been dumbfounded. Actually, the Mary-Beth that was then and there, who had just gotten to know Charles Smith very intimately while pressed up against a tree at the edges of the swamp, was dumbfounded too.

So she stood, arms around his neck, her head against his chest, her eyes shut as they both relished in the light, fuzzy feeling that had overtaken their bodies.

As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, as Charles’ breathing did the same, the swamp came alive around them. Mary-Beth had forgotten about the singing of the tree frogs and crickets, until the fog in her head cleared away and she could hear them again.

And then, gently as could be, Charles brushed the thumb on her waist up and down along the cotton of her chemise.

She pulled her head back, and looked up at Charles, her eyes questioning.

“As much as I don’t wish to move, it isn’t safe to stay here.” Charles mumbled. “We’re too exposed, no safety.”

“We could sleep in the gazebo. Unless you want to, you know. Go back to your tent.” Mary-Beth suggested, the words slipping from her mouth before she realized she’d had the inspiration in the first place. She nearly regretted saying it—she was an adult woman, she didn’t need to risk her safety for the chance to cuddle up with a man. But Charles’s eyes snapped open in inspiration, and nodded, as if he never even heard her suggest they go their separate ways for the night.

“That would—I would like that. Do you want to?”

“I suggested it, silly.”

Charles looked a little chagrined at Mary-Beth’s words, but pushed it away and returned to his usual staid expression with a blink. Not caring at all to hide her own silly grin, Mary-Beth stood and brushed the grass from her skirt, and held out her hand for Charles to take. He accepted her hand, and stood, gathering up their discarded clothes as he went.

This time, it was Mary-Beth who led the way across the field, past the horses, and back to the gazebo where their little rendezvous had started. As they strolled through the starlight, she kept both of her hands clutched around his arm and her head against his shoulder. She liked being near Charles, being with him—and she was more than happy to use his own solid strength to hide how her own legs still felt like they were melting.

There was no one at the gazebo and no one at the scout fire. Aside from Lenny, who was on watch with his back turned to them, the only living beings they passed were the horses, who were sleeping on their feet.

Charles slipped his vest from his shoulders and rolled it up and laid it under his head. Mary-Beth curled up at his side, and laid her head on his chest and rested a hand on where his arms rested, crossed on his stomach. 

As they wiggled and settled into a comfortable position, Charles brushes a lock of hair back from Mary-Beth’s face, and asked, “if we were to come up with some reason to go into Saint-Denis together, would you like to go with me? We could visit the parks, maybe stay a night at one of the hotels.”  

Holding him a little tighter, Mary-Beth whispered, “I’d like that.” 

And two of them wished each other a hushed “good night.” 

She’d been right. It was perfectly lovely to cuddle up to Charles at night.

Then they dozed off together, drifting into a light, dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

Hours later, Charles and Mary-Beth snap awake at the sound of a heavy boot stomping on the soft, nearly-rotten wood of the gazebo floor.

Bolting upright, Charles’s hand reaches for his knife at his side, but his hand never even touches the hilt.

There was no threat.  

It was only Arthur, standing at the edge of the gazebo floor. The sky was already turning blue behind him, dawn well on its way.

“So did the two of you want to be found this way,” he asked, crossing his arms. “Locked in an amorous embrace? By Susan, or god forbid, Micah?”

Beside Charles, Mary-Beth grimaces, screwing her eyes shut.

No, they didn’t really want to be found this way. If anyone other than Arthur, or maybe Hosea or Abigail, had found them, it would be the subject of gossip and teasing around the campfire and in the middle of jobs for weeks.

“No…” Mary-Beth groans, blinking the shock and sleep from her hazel eyes. “I mean, no offense, Charles, but—“

“No, I understand.” Charles shakes his head.  It's not that it would be foolish to be seen cuddling up with him, it was foolish to be cuddling up with anyone right outside of the mansion, in the gazebo, without anyone knowing of their intentions first. 

“I figured neither of you needed Karen and Tilly or  _Bill_ to have more material to hassle you with,” Arthur said, his posture softening as he leaned against one of the gazebo’s posts.

Mary-Beth groans, and shakes her head.

“Thank you, Arthur.” And with a squeeze of Charles’ hand, she clambers to her feet, and collects her discarded clothes from the night before. “I need to go freshen up before Miss Grimshaw gets up, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” She lays a grateful hand on Arthur’s arm, before turning back and sending a warm smile and a wink to Charles.

He smiles back without realizing it. Charles didn't smile easily.

And then Arthur clears his throat and lights a cigarette—one of the good ones, too.

Charles pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his back and tailbone. As he stood, Arthur shifted his weight to the side, blocking the stairs and the way out of the gazebo. Arthur wasn’t even looking at him—he was admiring the cigarette card, an image of a velocipede printed on the front, as he trapped Charles in.  

“Arthur,” Charles says, at a loss for anything else to do.

“Charles.” He replies, sliding the card in his pocket and casting his eye down at the ground where Mary-Beth’s foot had just trod.

Charles waits for Arthur to say more—he was the one who was supposed to say more. Charles was the silent one—but Arthur did not say anything, nor did he make any move to walk away. So Charles broke first.

“How are things in Saint Denis? Did you get Jack back?”

Arthur shakes his head, and shifts his weight forward, closer to Charles’ chest, closer to Charles' personal space.

“No, I just came back to let Abigail know. We found the man who has Jack. He wants to become  _friends_  with Dutch. He has a job he wants us John and me to run for him after dark, and then he’ll hand over Jack. The boy will be back in his mother’s arms by midnight, I suppose.” And then his eye narrows, and for a fleeting moment, Charles actually feels uncomfortable. He likes Arthur, and in the time that they’ve become friends, it has usually been Charles who’s been the critical or skeptical one. This was making his skin crawl. “So. You and Mary-Beth, huh?”

Was Arthur interested in Mary-Beth? Charles had noticed that she had some interest in Arthur, but… no. No, Arthur hadn’t made a single romantic overture to her, or any woman, for as long as Charles had been around.

So Charles simply answered “yes.”

Arthur’s critical eye never waivers, and as much as Charles hates to admit it, he breaks again. He turns just a little to the side in order to avoid the direct force of Arthur’s gaze.

“You know,” Arthur says slowly. “Mary-Beth is probably the most dangerous woman you’ve ever met.”

“I—“ Charles understood that all of the women in the gang were dangerous. But Mary-Beth? The softest, most romantic of them? He supposes she is a special kind of threat.

He nods. “I know.”

“Good. I think you two will be good for each other—if she doesn’t eat you alive, first. Anyway, I have to go speak to Abigail and ride on back to that cesspit of a city. Good luck, to you Charles. And just remember,” Arthur manages to lean even further forward, but Charles holds his ground. “You are a dear friend to me and I trust you with my life, Charles, but I still like Mary-Beth more than I like you.”

And then Arthur turns and strides off the way he always does, with purpose, towards the crumbling old house.

Charles stays there under the gazebo, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes, before looking around in disbelief at the old mansion grounds, awash with the pink light of the sunrise.

_Yeah._

_He should’ve expected that._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! I tried to adopt a voice worthy of Mary-Beth (some hints of romance novel, but not as cheesy) so let me know if I did our girl justice!


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